


Your Sin is Mine

by Silverwing26



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Blasphemy, M/M, Oral Sex, Shota, a bible shouldn't be used that way, rosary, rough, sebastian is a bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 13:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13412133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverwing26/pseuds/Silverwing26
Summary: It has been several months since Ciel and Professor Michaelis have left the halls of Weston.Some prayers are hard to forget.





	Your Sin is Mine

It has been several months since Ciel and Professor Michaelis have left the halls of Weston.

Some prayers are hard to forget.

“Young Master, honestly.” He clicks his tongue softly, looking over the sleeping image of his Young Lord. The boy is snoring softly with his head on his folded arms, draped over the arm of the chair. Sebastian’s head tilts to the side and his eyes linger on the boy’s lips, on his thin fluttering eyelid, his perfectly manicured nails curled into his palms in sleep. He looks at his slightly rumpled coat, and pale coltish legs bent beneath his small body. “How vulnerable you leave yourself, my little Master,” he says. Sebastian’s inky dark voice wraps around the sleeping noble, shielding him from the light, from nightmares, sequestering him far from the reaching grasp of the world, and the underworld, and the otherworld. The boy is his, and in the silence of the library, he takes a moment to ponder this.

He gathers the stack of books into his arms and silently begins replacing them on the shelves. Sebastian’s brow arches as he runs gloved fingers over the spines, locating the correct homes for the many books. The butler’s shoes, polished to a mirror shine, make soft clicking sounds as he climbs to the top of the library ladder. Sebastian’s eyes trace the cover of one of the books in his arms. He chuckles softly and slips the largest book to the bottom of the pile. From his vantage point, he can see over the smaller shelves to the wing-backed chair where his little lord slumbers. Ciel has shifted in sleep, turning onto his back in the chair. His legs are spread, one dangling over the arm, and the other bent over the seat cushion with his heel on the floor. _Oh, you do leave yourself far too vulnerable, my Lord,_ the devil thinks. _Just precisely who do you think I am?_

The devil’s eyes are dancing with amusement, and the first flickering embers of lust are turning those garnet red eyes iridescent like wet rubies. His lips curl at the corners, forming fine lines that never seem to etch his handsome face with time. He tucks the final book beneath his arm, climbs down from the ladder, and quietly comes to stand before his charming, sleeping charge. “Now then,” he chuckles beneath his breath as he opens the large black leather bound cover and he nearly snickers upon reading the beautiful gold inlaid first page.

_‘The Holy Bible’_

“I am not at all surprised it put you to sleep,” the butler comments as he begins to carefully thumb through nearly transparent pages.

Sebastian’s eyes begin to glow softly. _Oh, Young Master_ … he thinks and runs his gloved fingers over the edge of the pages. It is nearly imperceptible, but the devil knows. He can smell the faint traces of his lord’s arousal; his mouth waters with the scant scent of his small Master’s soul, beautiful and pure, corrupt and disparaging.

 _Did he really?_ Sebastian’s eyes trace over the gilt-lined pages, the almost imperceptible smears along the spine, the crumpled edges of the pages where small fingerprints, damp with fluid, have warped the thin paper.

 _I am almost impressed,_ he thinks and his smoldering stare drifts like smoke from the splattered page, so heavily laden with the boy’s scent that it calls to every fibre of the devil’s being. _Now what brought this about?_ he wonders, and then nearly bites back a laugh as a brief sparkle attracts his attention.

The devil leans over his charge to examine Ciel’s hand, closed over something glinting in the low light, as his arm is draped over his eyes. Sebastian growls softly and those long, talented fingers gently lift the boy’s hand.

Ciel stirs in his sleep, precisely as the devil intended. His head shifts beneath his arm and his small hand falls open. Sebastian’s reflexes are exceptional and he catches the object falling from Ciel’s hand before it lands on his young master’s face.

The devil stands and his lips curl into a satisfied and hungry grin. His smile would be called wolfish if the boy were awake to see it. He admires the crucifix, and the red and black beads; he has always liked this one and runs the smooth chain through his fingers before draping it about his neck. It will need cleaning, he thinks absently, licking the sticky remnants from the Our Father’s and from the Maria. The sheer depravity of it has the lust pooling beneath the devil’s skin.

He looks down at the tender, alluring morsel sleeping in the chair. _What a student you have become, my Little Lord. What a soul this is,_ he thinks. “You will be delicious,” Sebastian growls and stands at the side of the chair. He has ceased to be quiet, ceased to pamper his lamb in slumber. The devil is hungry, and his most coveted imp has stoked the fires of his own damnation through prayer and sin and the devil’s name hung in his heart where his faith used to slumber.

“Seba…” he murmurs in sleep, his eye beginning to flutter open. “Seb… wha… Ah~!” His thoughts are driven from his sleep laden mind. Sebastian is bent over the arm of the chair, his head between his small master’s thighs. Those long, talented fingers make short work of trouser buttons and drawstrings. They are practiced movements that he has employed hundreds of times before, undressing and dressing and undressing his charge again and again. Ciel can feel his short trousers hanging from one foot, Sebastian not even having bothered to fully remove them.

“Ah, Sebastian!” he calls out and his hands flutter, looking for purchase. He grabs the arm of the chair as he feels the devil’s hot wet embrace over his length, only half-hard but quickly beginning to throb and ache beneath the devil’s ministrations.

His hands crawl over his own chest, and then up into his hair. He grabs fistfuls in both hands and rips his eyepatch off, the cord tangling in his fingers. “There! Ah, there, Sebastian!” The devil licks and sucks and nibbles and he is ravenous with the salty sweet remnants on the boy’s warm skin. He swallows around his young master, his lips pressing against the hairless skin at the base of Ciel’s quickening erection.

Sebastian’s tongue laps at the underside of Ciel’s length, pressing here and flickering there, and the boy is tossing as best he can while pinned beneath the devil’s wet kisses and his possessive, malicious hands as they slide beneath Ciel’s vestments and come to find his sensitive, pink nipples.

“No, oh… Not there…” Ciel whimpers and the passive breathy sound does nothing to quell the devil’s enthusiasm.

“No? Then, where, my naughty, naughty child?” he queries, lifting his head and staring at Ciel from between his parted thighs. “Would you like me to touch you elsewhere?” He chuckles and then dips his head to tease the boy’s dripping slit with his tongue.

“No… I didn’t mean… Ah! Sebastian!” Ciel moans and claws at the devil’s hair, his shoulders, and then his small fingers touch the beads of the rosary, and Ciel knows Sebastian knows. He flushes to his hairline and begins to shiver, knowing full well it is his own actions that have driven the devil to this state. He blossoms in the knowledge and bites his bottom lip hard. He tastes the coppery hint on his lips that lets him know he is bleeding but when Sebastian rolls those hard, pink nipples between his fingers, the boy’s back arches and the devil’s broken name shatters against the back of his perfect, pearly teeth.

“It’s alright,” the devil purrs. “You can move your hips.”

The boy is undone. He rolls his hips into that hot, waiting mouth, pulls his devil’s hair, and right before the boy feels he might shatter, that he might break into pieces for the pleasure, he wraps those coltish legs about the devil’s head and spends.

Sebastian is hardly sated and he rests a knee on the arm of the chair, pulling the small boy, soaked with sweat and still gasping, against his chest. Ciel is standing in the chair, his clothes and his hair a mess. He looks at the devil, his mismatched eyes falling into the depths of hellfire. “Sebastian,” he says, and wraps the rosary around both of his small fists. “I want more.”

“Anything you ask me for,” he replies and it is deep and growling and the boy knows he ought to be careful. He knows he ought not to play with fire, he ought not to push the boundaries to which his malevolent caretaker holds himself, but the boy can’t help it.

 _“More_ , devil,” he says.

“I should punish you for turning to Him instead of me,” Sebastian says and the look in his eyes is carnal and unforgiving.

“He has nothing to do with it,” the boy replies, throwing his deviant demon’s words back at him.

“No?” the devil questions, pulling his throbbing, heavy cock from his trousers.

“No,” the boy replies and his lips curl into the devil’s own smile.

“You were in need of more Latin practice, then?”

Ciel’s eyes narrow, and he releases one hand on the rosary to tease the end of Sebastian’s cock with his soft fingers. He slides them through the fluid already gathering at the tip and rubs the head with his thumb. “Perhaps I was just marking your territory.” The impish boy smiles as his small hand attempts to wrap around the devil’s thick length. His fingers do not close around Sebastian’s considerable cock and he licks his lips as he stares into the devil’s slitted pupils. 

Sebastian’s eyes widen. _This BOY,_ he thinks and lifts Ciel from the chair. He is not gentle, he is not slow, and the pleasure he wracks his little contractor’s body with has the devil covering his mouth to keep from alerting the other servants. 

Ciel is lost to this world, lost to his title, and to nobility, lost to his manor and the servants, lost to his pride and his mortality. He is lost to everyone and everything save Sebastian. And when he is spent and plied with pleasure and hanging from the devil’s neck with exhaustion, he is finally able to find some semblance of peace.

“You only need call for me,” Sebastian whispers against the boy’s head as he carries him to his rooms.

“Sometimes it’s more fun this way,” the boy chides and tucks his head beneath Sebastian’s chin. “Shut up. I’m tired now.”

The devil’s eyes glow and he chuckles softly. “Very well but remember, Young Master… you still have to say your prayers before you sleep.”


End file.
